


Princess Paulie

by faultyfriendofyours



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, M/M, McLennon, hurt!paul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:26:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29554194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faultyfriendofyours/pseuds/faultyfriendofyours
Summary: tumbler request: Fic request, John's reaction to Paul's moped accident. Was he upset? Angry? Worried? Protective? All of the above?
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 1
Kudos: 40





	Princess Paulie

Warm air clattered from the radiator as the soft light of two lamps lit the room enough for John to read his book. Well, more so skim. It turned out to be rather boring but he didn’t have much else to do as he waited for Paul. There had been absolutely nothing on TV and the radio was busted. He hoped the latter would be remedied soon since he called the front desk for a replacement.

In the meantime, he threw the book to the side and snatched up a magazine. He snorted when he saw himself and the others in colorful red and yellow suits. They all looked as if they’d seen several people commit semi-interesting crimes outside a window. A bright banner above them reads “We snoop on each other.” True enough, he supposed. But didn’t all friends, to an extent? As he read over their alleged quotes, he rolled his eyes - all in good humor. _Teen World_ was as predictable as ever and the little teenies would eat it up. 

Eyeing the room as if someone would jump out from behind the loveseat, he flipped the thing open, skipping the Beatle-y part in favor of a spread about Elvis. With another glance around the room- maybe there’s a spy camera, eh? - he read over the two dedicated pages. He was halfway through the first page when a knock came at the door. He jumped and the magazine fell to the floor.

Straightening himself out, he went to answer. Maybe he’d finally get some good music going in the room. “Got that radio, have-” John stopped dead, the smile dropping into an open-mouthed stare.

Not a bellhop. But a beaten Paul. His lip was well more than split with stitches sewn through and up. Bruising tinged the skin around it. All accompanied by an intense scrape on his brow that was scabbed and red.

“Ugly, isn’t it?” Paul tried to scrunch up his face in mock-disgust but flinched. 

“God, Macca. Who the hell did that to you?” Paul seemed about to answer when John pulled him into the room, holding the sides of his face. “Did you get mugged or something? The absolute bastards. I swear I’ll-” 

Paul laughed, “You’ll what? You’ll go out and find ‘em yourself? All you’ll have to find is my idiot self and a scratched up moped.”

John let go in favor of crossing his arms. An indignant scowl took form. “When?”

“Yesterday.”

“And you didn’t bother to ring me up!”

He was trying not to smile, probably because it’d hurt quite a bit. “Was high off my head at the time. The moon was really, truly, beautiful though. If that’s worth anything.”

“‘S not, actually.”

“Oh,” he was giving his best attempt at a smile. “If you’d have seen it you’d agree.”

“Aye, well, you’re never allowed a moped again,” he said as he led Paul to the bed. He was made to sit down as John turned to the bathroom.

“Alright then, da’. You want me to stop wearing me drainies too?”

“You’re pushing your luck, here, McCartney.”

“And what are you up to?”

“Untwist those knickers and wait.”

“You’re the one with the twisted knickers here,” Paul called out as the sound of running water came from the bathroom.

John soon emerged with a damp rag in hand. Immediately, Paul tried to protest but John crouched in front of him and held the back of his head with a gentle touch. Though he looked annoyed, he let John pat at his brow.

“Didn’t bother cleaning it up this morning?”

Paul hissed and pulled back after John hit an all too sore spot. He gave a quiet apology, scrunching up his face. Caring for these scrapes and scratches made John’s brow start to ache in sympathy.

“Mmm.” Paul fought between cringing away and staying put. “And be late in meeting with you?” He sucked in a sharp breath. “Never.”

John held Paul’s chin still to dab the bottom of his upper lip. With a soft groan, he parted them. Clearly visible was a severely chipped front tooth. “You’ll be needing that capped, git.” He set the rag to the side to admire his handy work.

“No one will notice it. More worried about my busted lip.”

John grumbled in response, still holding Paul’s chin. “You just don’t fancy a trip to the dentist.” With another grumble, he kissed the corner of Paul’s mouth and let go, clapping Paul’s shoulder before going to the liquor stash. “So, it’s a wine pain or whiskey pain?”

Without hesitation, “Whiskey.” After a moment he added, “Aye, what’s this?”

A bottle of dark liquor and two glasses in hand, he turned to find Paul holding the _Teen_ magazine, still flipped open to the Elvis spread. A flush of embarrassment pinked his cheeks as he set the glasses down. Snatching the magazine away, he dropped onto the bed, leaning against the headrest. Paul sat just at his feet. 

John huffed and held the half-folded magazine up beside Paul’s face. “Still look a bit like him. With that lip of yours in a permanent snarl.”

“Guess I’ll take what I can get in the way of compliments now.”

As Paul crawled up beside him, John leaned over and poured two fingers worth in both glasses. They sipped at them and John’s arm went over Paul’s shoulders. “But you’re still Princess Paulie to me.”

“Ha ha ha,” Paul mocked, lightly punching John’s shoulder.

“It’s true, though!” Just to prove it, he pulled Paul closer and kissed his forehead, nose, and cheek.


End file.
